Sanctuary
by cdixon
Summary: Things for Rick's group are worse than ever after Grady Memorial, and the group is in desperate need of sanctuary when a stranger offers them shelter. Is this home? A stop along the way? Or is their host harboring her own secrets? Rick-centric. Canon through "Coda." M for violence, language, and later sexual situations.
1. ON THE ROAD AGAIN

**ON THE ROAD AGAIN**

It was the worst winter since after the farm, by a real damn long shot. They were back on the road again, moving aimlessly from place to place in search of even a moment of safety, desperately scrounging and searching the dilapidated homes and hunting the barren woods for a scrap of food. And fighting walkers. And running. Always running, with no finish line in sight.

In some ways, though, it was even worse than that winter after the farm. Eugene's truth weighed heavily on all of them, though they had all known, on some level, that there was no cure. There would be no miracle. This was life now, and walkers were walkers, and it was a truth they all had to face.

The group was different, too. Noah had joined them, and was a useful member in spite of his injured leg. Abraham was brooding and silent, keeping to the periphery and all but unresponsive to Rosita's frequent attempts to reach out to him. Eugene was eager to prove his worth to the group, almost to the point of overcompensation. He did all he could to contribute, but otherwise he stayed mostly silent. He never complained, which was enough to be thankful for. Sasha was stoic, but the sniffles and quiet cries she tried to smother in the fabric of her pack each night seemed to indicate that Bob's death had finally hit home. Carl put on a brave face, and had become a kind of guardian for the meek and nervous Father Gabriel, but he was reeling from the final loss of hope and from Beth.

Beth.

Beth was dead.

Beth was dead, and they all missed her. Maggie had now lost the last of her family, apart from Glenn, and that reality seemed to have knocked the stuffing right out of her. She marched along mechanically, poked disinterestedly at what little food they could find, and barely spoke to anyone. The only thing she showed any enthusiasm for was killing walkers, which she did with more gusto than was probably healthy.

But Rick would leave that situation to Glenn. He had his hands full trying to keep what remained of his family alive, to care for Judith and bring Carl around, and to look out for Daryl.

Daryl's response to Beth's death concerned Rick far more than Maggie's. Beth was Maggie's sister, and the last kin she had left on this earth. Maggie had Glenn, and Glenn was solid. But Daryl…who did Daryl have? The bitter and harsh Carol, who seemed more jaded than ever after the death of the girl who had saved her life? Rick himself?

Rick didn't know what had happened between Daryl and Beth in the weeks after the fall of the prison. He knew they had grown close, he had heard the depth of the bond in Daryl's voice when he spoke about Beth during the days they had been trapped at Terminus (Or was it weeks? Time had seemed to drag on interminably and yet the days had blurred and run together until none of them knew how long they had been stuck in that damned box). Rick assumed Daryl's attachment was a natural sense of protectiveness and responsibility for Beth, developed as he had guided her through the wilderness, the way an older brother would look out for a younger sibling, the way Carl looked out for Judith. But the way he reacted to her death… The desperation on Daryl's face when the bullet had pierced Beth's skull, the shock and disbelief and devastation that had twisted his features when her blood had splattered across his face and her body crumpled, the sheer rage with which he had slain Dawn, and the tender way he had cradled Beth's lifeless body made Rick realize there was much more to the relationship than he had thought.

Daryl Dixon had loved Beth Greene.

The notion shocked Rick at first, but the more he considered it during the endless hikes over icy terrain, the more it made sense. For all Daryl's gruff exterior, he was a good guy with a soft heart, and Beth had become far tougher than she looked thanks in no small part to Daryl's tutelage. Beth was open and sweet, full of light and hope; the perfect balance for Daryl's brooding pessimism. It made sense that Daryl would fall for Beth, and she for him.

Not that it mattered anymore. Beth was gone. This world was void of happy endings.

It wasn't as though Daryl had said much, or even acted overtly different. As usual, he played things close to his winged vest. But he was Rick's brother, and Rick could see the devastation he tried so hard to conceal. It was the way he stared into the flames of the campfire, watching something visible only to his eyes. It was the way he failed to respond to the others' attempts at conversation, not even offering a trademark smirk or a grunt in reply. It was the way he went off hunting—always alone—for twice as long as was customary, and returned with half the haul. It was the way he kept shooting angry, resentful looks in Maggie's direction. He never had an opinion about where to stay or which way to go, never spoke up or offered Rick his unique brand of council.

So Michonne was Rick's right-hand these days while Daryl hung back, lost in his own world. Rick had no problem with Michonne backing him. She was every bit as capable as Daryl. But Daryl was Daryl and Michonne was Michonne. It was just different. If Rick had his druthers he would have both of them, but that didn't seem to be an option right now.

He had to get Daryl—everyone in the group, really—back on solid ground. But solid ground required food and shelter and some sense of safety, and he didn't know how to find that. It was times like these when Rick really felt the burden of Hershel's absence.

If Hershel could see him now…

They had been wandering around for several weeks (three? Six?) when they stumbled across the herd. Quite literally stumbled, unfortunately. Father Gabriel tripped over a rock and slid down a hill, and at the bottom of that hill was a herd. He screamed, the loud, high-pitched sound shattering the stillness, and the group scrambled down to his aid. The group moved into formation and immediately began putting down walkers with practiced efficiency.

It was a relatively small herd, and they were making quick work of it. Everyone in the group, apart from Gabriel and Judith, had grown quite skilled in the walker-killing arena, and though Michonne and Daryl and Glenn and Maggie and Abraham and Rick still put down more than their share, the group worked well together.

Until Gabriel panicked.

Rick wasn't sure, at the time, exactly what happened. Rosita said later that a couple of walkers had closed in on Gabriel, and he bolted. All Rick knew was he looked up after burying his knife in a walker's skull to see Gabriel get taken down.

"He's gone!" Rick shouted to the group. "Don't break ranks!"

But Abraham was already gone. Rick heard Rosita call his name, desperately and repeatedly, but he and those around him—Daryl, as usual, and Michonne and Carl—were too buried in walkers to go to Abraham's aid. Several more minutes passed before the herd was thinned and the only walkers in sight were several hundred yards away.

Rick ran to where he had seen Gabriel fall, the others at his back as always. Rosita was already sprinting past Gabriel, with Tara and Noah hot on her heels.

"Abraham!" Rosita shouted. "Abraham!"

Abraham's red hair was nowhere in sight, there were only walkers. Most were dead, and Rick and the others were able to dispatch the rest with ease. It looked as though Abraham had made quite the dent before he went down.

Rick arrived at a pile of walkers, all gnawing on Gabriel's mangled corpse. Rick put the walkers down, and then put a bullet through Gabriel's battered skull.

"Abraham!" Rosita shouted, this time in relief.

Rick heard Abraham's groan, and went to Rosita's side. Abraham had hidden beneath a couple of dead walkers, camouflaged by their stink and rot. He was somewhat the worse for wear, bloodied and bruised and favoring his right shoulder when he scrambled to his feet, but there was no sign of a bite.

"You okay?" Rick asked.

"Seen worse," Abraham muttered.

None of the group had been particularly fond of Gabriel. He was cowardly and simpering and more or less useless. But they buried him as one of their own, with a small cross marker fashioned from sticks. They lingered by his grave for only a few moments before more walkers approached, and, as ever, they move on.

It wasn't so much that Gabriel's death affected the group deeply, in and of itself. In Rick's estimation he had been more or less useless, and he had never earned Rick's trust. Of all of them Carl had been the closest to the priest, and that was more the protective instinct he had developed over those weaker than himself than real fondness for the man. But Gabriel's demise was a painful reminder of past traumas, and a reminder of how fragile their current existence had become. They were in constant danger. Something as simple as a loss of footing could mean the loss of their lives.

Rick himself could find no sympathy in his heart at all for the preacher. No sadness, no pain, not even a shred of disappointment. As was more and more frequently the case, he felt nothing.

It was a few days after Gabriel's death when Michonne first suggested they head to DC anyway, fake cure be damned.

"If there's a safe haven," she said one night as she and Rick sat a short distance from the rest of the family, keeping watch while the others huddled together for a semblance of warmth and uncomfortable rest on the frozen ground. "If there's any kind of compound or sanctuary, that's where it'll be."

"How do you figure that?" Rick asked.

"They were doing everything they could to keep the government running," Michonne replied. "Who do you think ordered the Atlanta bombing? Or had all those people shot? The government was still operational for a long time after everything fell apart. Maybe they still are. But you know that all of those politicians sent their families _somewhere_. And I did hear rumors. Before we met."

"What if you're wrong? What if we go all that way and DC is just like Atlanta? Bombed out, overrun with walkers, and no safe zone."

"It's a chance. It's a better chance than we have now."

"Maybe," said Rick.

"Do you have a better plan?"

Rick didn't, so he decided to pose the question to the rest of the group as they huddled around the campfire the following evening. Predictably, the question raised a fair amount of debate. Carl's eyes had brightened for the first time in weeks at the hope of sanctuary, and Tyreese, Glenn and Sasha were on board with the idea immediately.

Carol was more skeptical. "It seems like a good place to get trapped to me. And it's not just the walkers we have to worry about. Think what we just escaped from."

"Not everybody's like the Governor, Carol," said Tyreese. "Or like Gareth."

"You're kidding yourselves," said Abraham. "Ain't nothing in DC. Eugene lied. Ain't no reason to go up there."

Eugene scuffed his shoes against the earth and looked down in shame, but said nothing.

"Maybe not," said Rosita, taking Abraham by the hand, "but I don't see much reason not to try."

"Daryl?" said Carol. Daryl just grunted and shrugged, leaning against a tree.

In the end they put it to a vote. Carol, Abraham, Tara, and Noah were against the trip, while Tyreese, Sasha, Glenn, Maggie, Carl, and Michonne were firmly for it. Eugene seemed reluctant to vote, but in the end joined the majority. Rick had already decided to leave his input out of the group's decision, but was a bit concerned when Daryl didn't even bother to raise his hand.

"Don't see how it matters," Daryl said, when Rick asked him about it later. "We can die going nowhere, or die heading somewhere."

The response did little to ease Rick's concern for his friend.

So they headed north. The hunger and cold and exhaustion were still very much present, but Rick had to admit it felt good to have a destination. The rest of the group seemed to feel similarly, as everyone's spirits were notably lifted.

At first.

Because there was one factor they hadn't fully considered: the cold.

The further they traveled, the colder it grew, and the colder it grew the more scarce the food supply. The group's mood, which had brightened slightly when they first started out, soured more than ever. They were weak and cold, and some—Carol and Sasha and Maggie and Carl, in particular—had begun to appear dangerously thin. Houses grew fewer and farther between, and each day they were able to cover less ground.

And just when Rick thought things were as bad as they could get, they got much worse. They were somewhere in the hills of northwestern South Carolina when Judith started coughing.


	2. HUSH LITTLE BABY

**HUSH LITTLE BABY**

In this new world there were walkers, and there was the dead, and there were people warped by the things they'd had to do to survive. But then there was Judith. She was the only person alive, as far as Rick knew, who didn't fall into any of those categories. She was sweet and innocent and very much alive, and she hadn't yet been corrupted by the world into which she was born.

But Judith was still a casualty of this new world, in a less obvious way. Her mother had died and then been shot by her big brother, and her father was the de-facto leader of a band of weary and broken people, trying to keep them alive with only modest success. He was a law enforcement officer in a world with no law. A cop-turned-killer.

Even without Rick's failings as a parent, this world was no place for a baby. Carl, at least, knew something other than this. He knew a world with school and sports and teachers and friends and _life. _Judith would know no other world than this one. Her world would always be about running and fighting and walkers and suffering and death. How could they even teach her to read and write when they had to spend every moment focused on survival?

She was walking now, and starting to saw a few words. "Dada" and "shhhh" were her most common utterances, appropriately enough. If Judith understood nothing else, she understood that being quiet was important. She very rarely cried these days, and if she did it was only very softly. It was as if she knew instinctively that her cries could put them all at risk. And Rick hated that. Kids were supposed to cry and laugh and squeal with delight. But in this world if Judith behaved like a child it would threaten their very existence.

All of these things weighed heavy on his mind, but didn't bother him nearly as much as the coughing.

They were somewhere in the neighborhood of what used to be Clemson University when Rick first heard it. Carl was carrying his little sister, whispering quietly the names of the different plants and trees they passed. Carl was a good big brother, always ready to teach and protect. Things were peaceful just then, so none of them gave it much thought when Judith first coughed.

But by the time they had hunkered down that night in a small hunting cabin, it was clear that Judith's cough was more than just a dry throat.

"We'll head into Pickens tomorrow," said Glenn, returning from scouting with Maggie and Michonne. "We saw a road sign that said it's about 10 miles from here. We might be able to find a store or a pharmacy with some cough medicine."

"Or maybe even some food," Carol offered.

"Let's hope so," said Rick.

But Pickens was totally overrun with walkers. Someone had erected a barrier and trapped what seemed to be the entire population of Pickens inside the city limits. The smell of rotting flesh alerted them to the problem long before they saw the town.

The group was dangerously low on ammunition as it was, and couldn't risk trying to fight through. The one dilapidated mom and pop grocery they found just outside of town had long since been ransacked, and anything that had once been edible was molded and rotting beyond recognition. The only thing they found of use was a half-used box of matches and the half-starved opossum that had been living in the back room. Daryl put an arrow through its neck, and at least they had dinner.

Two days later, things were getting desperate. Judith's cough had gotten worse, and she now had a fever and was beginning to wheeze. To make matters worse, none of them had had more than a few bites to eat since the possum, and the cold was getting to all of them. The ground was rocky and frozen, and adding Judith's coughs and cries to the mix made sleep nearly impossible. Many times throughout the night some of the group would be forced to rise and put down the walkers drawn to their camp by the sounds of Judith's distress.

They traveled on, their search for shelter and food and warmth growing more frantic by the hour. The terrain was rockier and the hills steeper, and when combined with the fatigue and hunger the group was able to cover only a few miles each day.

Rick lost track of the days and the miles and even where they were. He only knew that it was cold, he was hungry, and Judith was much, much worse. She shook with chills and high fever, her cough had grown weak and every breath was a pained effort.

They were dying. They were all dying, and Rick's sweet baby girl was going first. He wasn't sure Judith would last through the next day, and the thought of losing her nearly broke his battered soul completely.

They were in the mountains, much further west than they should have been. Rick recognized this on some distant level, but his entire being was focused on his daughter. It had been days since anyone had spoken more than a few words, and no one had acknowledged the fact that they were well off course for DC.

They were walking through the woods along a creek bed, the water frozen around the edges and over the rocks. Glenn was in the lead with Maggie, while Rick carried Judith and helped a weak, stumbling Carl along. He was dimly aware of Michonne walking closely behind him, her dark eyes watching him in that penetrating way she had.

It was just a few hours before nightfall when Glenn broke the oppressive silence.

"Hey guys?" he said. "Might wanna take a look at this."

It was a fence. A well-constructed fence with coils of barbed wire and razor wire and wood spikes emerging from between them. A walker had impaled himself on one of the spikes, and he snapped his rotting jaws at the bedraggled group as he struggled in vain to get free. The fence straddled the creek, and then continued up the hill and out of sight on the opposite side.

"Worth a shot, you think?" asked Glenn.

"Absolutely" said Carol.

The others nodded and murmured their agreement, and began picking their way across the rocks to reach the other side of the creek more or less dry. As they made their way up the hill, Rick tried to ignore the tiny spark of hope that flared within his chest. He didn't think he could handle a disappointment just then, not when Judith needed warmth and food so desperately. If he still believed there was a God, he would have sent up a prayer. As it was, he hoped for the best and prepared for disappointment.

The woods inside the fence had thinned and disappeared into unkempt lawn by the time they reached the top of the hill, though they still had the cover of trees to the outside. About a hundred yards to the left of the fence there was a small, one-story brick house. It seemed deserted; the windows were dark and clumsily boarded, and all was still and silent. There was an old white barn near the wood's edge that was equally quiet, with a dusty, mid-nineties-model Suburban parked beneath the overhang.

It was perfect.

The front gate was bolted shut from the inside, the chain rusted and long unused. The dirt drive headed off downhill for a thousand yards or so, where it met the twisted and winding mountain road. There were no other houses or cars in sight, no walkers or animals, no sound but the rustling of the wind through the barren trees and the distant rush of water in the creek.

The team huddled together at the edge of the tree line, crouched low.

"I'm on point. Michonne, Daryl, Abraham, Sasha; you're with me," said Rick. "Tyreese, if you'll watch out for Judith?" Tyreese nodded solemnly, and took the shuddering, whimpering Judith from Rick's arms. "Maggie, Glenn, Noah; watch our backs. Carol, Rosita, and Tara flank Tyreese, Eugene and Carl. Stay low. Once we get inside the gate, keep close to those bushes and head for the carport."

Rick leaned down to run his hand over Judith's hot, clammy head, and give her a gentle kiss. "Hang in there, baby girl," he whispered. He stood and straightened to address the others. "Alright let's move."

The group drew their weapons and settled into formation, moving swiftly and silently to the gate. It was as though seeing the house had given them all a sudden burst of energy, and the weeks of little food and rest seemed to fall away. They worked as a well-oiled machine; Daryl cut the lock, Abraham removed the chain, and Michonne opened the latch. They all moved through, and Glenn secured the gate behind them. It was all done in seconds and without speaking.

They moved forward, crouched low, along the row of azaleas that lined the drive and partially blocked the group from view of the house. "Stay alert," Rick reminded them as they reached the vacant carport. "We'll clear the house. Seems quiet, but don't drop your guard."

From between the house and the last of the bushes to Rick's right, something cold and hard pressed firmly into the side of his neck. He stopped short.

"Good advice" said an unfamiliar feminine voice. "I assume your personal motto is 'do as I say, not as I do'? Cause if it's not, it should be."

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**Short chapter, but they'll get longer as I get into the meat of the story. The next 2 1/2 chapters are written, so I should upload pretty regularly. Please let me know what you think! **

**C**


	3. DOCTOR, DOCTOR

**Happy birthday to me, another chapter. **

**I realize that OC's are risky, and not entirely popular. My hope is that this character, which you will actually meet here, is interesting enough and well-developed enough to work. I'm very curious to know your thoughts! Any constructive criticism is appreciated. **

**Let me know what you think!**

* * *

**DOCTOR, DOCTOR**

"Move," said the woman, pushing the gun more firmly against Rick's neck. He stood, hands raised, and moved under the carport. His team had their weapons drawn, but Rick was a very effective human shield for the woman. "Drop your weapons," she said. Her southern accent was slightly different than Rick's; giving him some idea of how far north they had traveled.

No one responded to her demand, and every weapon but Rick's remained steadily trained at the stranger.

The gun at Rick's neck gave an ominous click. "Here's a little anatomy lesson, folks: the barrel of this gun is about a centimeter from this guy's carotid artery, and his spinal cord's just a little ways past that. So unless you want your boss man to be paralyzed for the thirty seconds or so before he dies of blood loss, I suggest you drop. Your. Weapons."

Rick lowered his gun to the ground, and the others followed.

"Thank you" said the woman.

"We don't mean you any harm, ma'am" said Rick. "Just needed a place to stay."

"You definitely do," said the woman. "I could smell you from the gate. Not to mention _see_ you. Stealth really isn't your forte, is it?"

In a flash, Rick grabbed the gun and wrested it from the woman's hand, pressing her firmly into the wall. He held her by the neck, and pressed the barrel of her own gun into her temple.

To his astonishment, the woman laughed. "Well never mind," she said. "I'm impressed."

She was not at all what Rick had expected. She was maybe thirty and, he couldn't help but notice, quite pretty. She was athletic and slender, of average height, with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had olive skin, and eyes that glinted with mischief and humor and shifted eerily between a deep blue and gray. There was a certain luster to her hair and skin that told Rick she was much more well fed than anyone in his group had been in too damned long.

Rick's grip tightened around the butt of the gun, his finger on the trigger. It would be so easy. The house was obviously secure enough, and they could have it all to themselves. They could make it better. Judith could be warm and dry. All it would take was a twitch of his finger. The most miniscule movement, and it would be theirs. It would be the easiest thing in the world.

Rick stared at the woman, and the woman stared back, meeting Rick's eyes unflinchingly. It was as though she could see through him, and for a moment he wondered what kind of man she saw there. In her eyes he saw cleverness, he saw strength, he saw a deep well of sadness hidden beneath that initial glint of humor, but he saw not the slightest trace of fear, and he wondered what kind of person could have a stranger point a gun to her head and remain unafraid.

The answer, though, was obvious. Rick could.

Rick could pull the trigger. He could still do it, and it would still make things simpler. But it no longer seemed quite so easy.

"Well, what's it gonna be, gorgeous?" the woman asked after the long pause. "You haven't shot me yet—which, don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to bits about—so I'm guessing you're not one for indiscriminate violence."

"I told you," Rick replied, wondering how accurate her last statement was of late. "We need a safe place."

"And food, and baths, yes," said the woman. "Looks like y'all been on the road a long time. And smells like it too." Her eyes flicked toward the rest of the group. "And you need medicine for the little girl. She's yours?" she asked Rick. "Cause—no offense—she doesn't favor you overly." She said to Tyreese.

"Uh, none taken," said Tyreese.

"How long's she been sick?" the woman asked, meeting Rick's eyes again. Her tone was utterly relaxed and casual, and she showed no sign of anxiety at having a stranger hold a gun inches from her face. They might have been chatting over beers at the local bar, back in the days when people did such things.

"You talk an awful lot for someone with a gun to her head," Rick replied.

"Well y'all look to me like folks in need of help, and I can provide that" said the woman. "Now, you could just kill me and take my place and dump my body out back with the dead guys, but I figure if you were gonna do that you'd have done it already. And anyway, your little girl's sick, and I'm a doctor."

Rick's head jerked back in surprise, and he glanced at his group in question. Glenn shrugged, Michonne nodded, and Daryl, after a moment of consideration, gave a slight dip of his head in assent.

Rick turned back to the woman, and pressed her gun more firmly against her temple. "How many walkers have you killed?"

"Walkers?" she said blankly, and then her eyes brightened in recognition. "Oh, _walkers_! I like that. Can I use that?"

"How many walkers have you killed?" Rick growled, squeezing her neck more firmly.

"Oh, honey," she said. "Too many to count. Dozens? Hundreds? I lost track a long time ago."

"How many people have you killed?"

The woman's eyes darkened, all trace of humor disappearing from her features. "Eight."

"Why?"

"The first three," she spat, " were because they tried to rape the closest thing I've ever had to a sister. The fourth and fifth were my father and my fiancé because they died and turned and I put I knife through their skulls and I just can't seem to count them among the dead I've put down. The sixth was that almost sister, because she got caught in a herd of your walkers and she _begged_ me to. And the seventh and eighth were because they thought they could break in here and take what they wanted and turn me into a fuck toy. Any further questions?"

Rick loosened his grip but didn't release the woman as he studied her carefully. He wanted to trust her, and something about her meant he _did_, with a depth he didn't fully understand. "How do I know I can trust you?" he asked quietly.

"Because," she murmured back, "the knife in my hand isn't buried in your gut."

Rick followed her gaze. Her right hand, which had been hidden from the view of the others by Rick's body, held a four-inch serrated blade, the tip of which just brushed against the fabric of Rick's coat. She could have had it buried in his gut in an instant, had she chosen to. He met her eyes again.

The woman shrugged, smirking slightly, and Rick released her. She tucked the knife back into the sheath at her hip. Rick returned her gun, and retrieved his own from the ground.

"Are you really a doctor?" Rick asked.

"Family doctor," she said, and offered her hand. "Hannah Todd, MD."

Rick hesitated, and then shook it. "Rick Grimes."

"And company," said Hannah Todd, looking at the others. "We'll do the formal introductions later, but why don't y'all come on in? I'll take a look at the little one."

Hannah ushered them into a cozy kitchen, as clean and well maintained on the interior as it was dilapidated on the outside. The cabinets were white, with the walls painted a pale gray and the floors granite tile. It was the first place Rick had been in since the farm that didn't smell of death and rot and disuse. It was only mildly warmer inside than out, but at least they were protected from the wind.

Rick and the others looked around with uncertainty, but Hannah Todd entered and took charge immediately. "I'd better take a look at the little nugget right away," she said, heading straight for Tyreese and Judith. "What's her name?"

"Judith," said Tyreese.

"Come here, Judith," said Hannah, taking Judith in her arms with a gentleness that endeared her to Rick immediately. "Papa Rick, you'll wanna come with me?"

Rick nodded.

"Me too," said Carl.

"Carl…" said Rick.

"I wanna stay with my sister," Carl insisted.

"It's ok," said Hannah. "I could use your help too, Carl."

"The rest of y'all might put your things in the den, for the time being," said Hannah, indicating the large, high ceilinged room just off of the dining area. "You could get a fire started, warm up. There's some wood in there, but you might get more. There's plenty stacked behind the barn. Oh, and there's a tub in the hall bathroom. You could get some water from the pump out back, warm it up over the fire for baths. There's soap, shampoo…I've even got disposable razors under the sink." Tara gave a quiet gasp of excitement, and Hannah grinned at her. "Knock yourselves out."

The group split off into the den, while Hannah ushered Rick and Carl into the front room. It was painted a cheery yellow, with a desk, a couch, and numerous boxes stacked along the wall to the left. Hannah laid Judith gently on the couch, lit an oil lamp against the growing darkness, and immediately began examining Judith. She was confident, efficient, and sure as she looked over Judith with an expression of mild concern. Rick had never been so glad not to have pulled the trigger in his life.

"Carl?" she asked. "Would you mind getting your sister undressed? I need to get a few things." Carl did as she asked as Hannah began rifling through the boxes. "Help me look through these, Rick Grimes. There should be one with bags of normal saline, and one with IV start kits. I'll need a pediatric one."

"How do I know which bag and kit to give you?" Rick asked as he began searching the boxes.

"Well the normal saline is in a clear bag that'll say 'normal saline' on it and the IV start kid says 'IV kit, comma, pediatric."

Rick gave a snort of laughter in spite of himself. "Thanks for that."

He found the items and brought them over to the couch where he knelt beside the doctor and his son. Hannah had gathered a few other items, and was listening to Judith's lungs with her stethoscope. "How is she?" Rick asked when she was finished.

"She's not good," said Hannah. "But I think you knew that. From her lung exam, I'd say she has pneumonia. She's also a bit malnourished and badly dehydrated."

"Can you help her?" Carl asked, the desperate tone of his voice making him sound, for once, like the kid he was.

Hannah had already gone to work starting the IV, and Rick couldn't help but wince as the needle pierced his baby girl's skin.

"Yes sir I can," said Hannah as she worked. "I'm gonna start out with giving her some fluids. That should perk her up. Then I'm gonna give her some ibuprofen for the fever, and because she's probably super uncomfortable, and some IV antibiotics for the infection. I keep those in the basement where the temperature stays more constant. The other thing I have to do won't be quite so much fun, and I'll need y'all to help me with."

"What's that?" Rick asked.

"Judith has fluid on her right lung," said Hannah. "It happens sometimes with bad pneumonia, and it makes it that much harder to breathe. I need to do what's called a thoracentesis, which is just fancy doctor-speak for taking the fluid off her lungs."

"How?" Rick asked.

Hannah held up a large syringe and an astonishingly large needle. "With this," she said. I'll stick this between her ribs and draw out the fluid. It'll hurt."

"Do you have to do it?" Carl asked. "She's already so sick, I don't wanna hurt her."

"Neither do I," Hannah replied. "And I don't _have_ to. If you and your dad say no, I won't do it. It's not like it's a risk-free procedure. But Judith's having a lot of trouble breathing, and this'll help with that. And that fluid is full of bacteria and disgustingness, and if I leave it there she'll take a lot longer to heal. Probably get even sicker."

"Do it," said Rick.

Hannah studied his face for a moment, then nodded and went to work. Rick held Judith in his lap, securing her legs between his thighs and holding her arms out of the way. Carl sat on the floor by Rick's feet, holding a piece of gauze in one hand and a small cup in the other. Hannah, deep in concentration, carefully inserted the needle between Judith's ribs. The little girl whimpered and squirmed pitifully in discomfort, but was too lethargic to fight very much.

For the next several minutes, Hannah drew syringe after syringe of fluid from poor Judith's chest. When the syringe was full, Carl would hold the cup beneath the end of the needle to catch the drips while Hannah squirted the dark, foul smelling fluid into another container, and then they would go again. It hardly seemed possible to Rick that so much fluid could come from such a small body.

After several rounds, though, Judith seemed to breathe easier.

"I think that's enough for now," said Hannah, as Carl helped her bandage the wound. She listened to Judith's lungs again, and said with a nod: "much better. We may have to do it again tomorrow, but she already sounds clearer."

"How long before she gets better?" Carl asked.

Hannah smiled sadly. "I can't say. And I can't promise you she will. Judith's very sick. But I think with rest and food and medicine and time, I think she'll be fine. And I'm not planning on kicking you out until she does."

Hannah gave Carl a cheeky wink and rose, walking with smooth, athletic strides to the corner closet and returning with a bottle of Children's Motrin. Judith whimpered quietly when the offensive-tasting liquid entered her mouth, but swallowed and quickly went back to sleep.

"Why did you let us in?" Carl asked. "How'd you know we weren't bad people?"

"Well it was getting kinda lonely around here," Hannah replied. "I was starting to talk to the furniture. Figured I'd better take the risk of being axe murdered before it started talking back."

She made a face, and Carl grinned. It had been weeks since Rick had seen his son smile, and he felt his own spirits lift in response.

"I'll be right back," said Hannah. "Gotta go find those antibiotics. Carl, you're in charge."

"Yes ma'am," said Carl, and Hannah departed.

Rick leaned back against the couch and ran his hands over Judith's head. He still worried about her, of course. She was still dangerously warm and horribly lethargic and every breath was a deep, rattling wheeze, but she was out of the cold and lying on a soft, clean sofa, and Dr. Hannah Todd was so calm and capable that he felt the horrible knot in his chest loosen a bit.

"What do you think of her?" Carl asked. "Do you think we can trust her?"

"I hope so," Rick replied. "I'd like to trust her. She didn't have to take us in, and she seems to actually wanna help Judith."

"She's nice," said Carl. "Funny."

"Pretty?" Rick offered.

Carl's cheeks flushed. "Well, yeah."

Rick chuckled lightly and gave his son a playful nudge.

"Okay, got the good drugs," said Hannah, striding back into the room. Carl's ears turned even redder beneath his hat. "And cozy blankets." She tucked Judith snugly into two soft blankets and then rummaged through the boxes, emerging with extra IV line. She returned to Judith's side, and went to work adding the antibiotics to the circuit. Every so often, Hannah would ask Carl to hold something or attach a piece of tubing, ensuring he felt involved in his sister's care.

"I think she's all set," said Hannah a few moments later. "The best thing we can do for Judith now is let her sleep."

"I'll stay with her, if you don't mind," said Rick.

Hannah nodded, smiling softly. "Of course. Carl?"

"Can I…" Carl hesitated. "Would you mind if I took a bath?" He asked shyly. "Is that okay, Dad?"

"Sure it is," said Rick.

"I should go and see how the other guys are faring," said Hannah. "Let me know if you need anything."

Rick nodded, and Hannah stood. "Come on, Carl. Let's get you cleaned up."

Carl stood, and Hannah guided him gently to the door. With one final glance and a reassuring smile, Hannah departed, closing the door and leaving Rick alone with his sleeping daughter.

For a long time, Rick just sat and watched Judith sleeping. The room was lit with the golden glow of the single oil lamp, and the shadows were long and deep but not menacing. After some time, the lines of distress smoothed from Judith's forehead, and her body relaxed. The shaking chills seemed to have stopped, and her forehead felt cooler to the touch than it had in days. The knot in Rick's chest loosened a bit further.

Things were still far from perfect. Rick was still cold and hungry, and being in this clean home made him realize that he really did smell pretty ripe. Judith still wheezed with each breath. They were momentarily secure, but who knew how long that would last? Something deep within him trusted Dr. Hannah Todd, but he wasn't sure he should listen.

But the carpet was soft and clean and comforting, the room secure and dry. The only sounds were the faint hiss of the oil lamp and the faint murmur of familiar voices. They were safe, at least for the moment, and Judith seemed to be on the road to recovery. Rick laid his head down on the seat of the couch, one arm tucked around his sleeping daughter, and before long he was soundly asleep.


	4. CAROLINA

_**Sorry for the delay, everyone. Things have been busy busy. I hope to have time to write over the weekend, so I can get another chapter up sometime early next week. Thanks for your kind words thus far...as always I appreciate any criticisms you may have.**_

**_So about Sunday's show...way to rip open my still-bleeding heart, AMC. Thanks for that. I loved the episode, thought it was filmed in a really unique and interesting way, but holy crap I was sad to see that person go. Whether I decide to follow cannon and axe that person too remains to be seen. _**

**_Ok...enjoy!_**

* * *

**CAROLINA**

Rick was startled back into consciousness some time later by the sound of the door opening. His hand was to his hip and his pistol trained on the intruder in an instant.

But Hannah Todd just grinned. "I really am impressed with your reflexes, Rick Grimes."

"I'm sorry," said Rick.

"It's okay," said Hannah with a wave of her hand. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I did wanna look in on Miss Judith. And let you know that there's dinner, if you're interested."

"Oh, I'm interested," said Rick. He stretched his stiff limbs, and turned his attention back to the still-slumbering Judith.

Hannah smiled. "Thought you might be." She stepped into the room and knelt by Rick's side. "How is the little nugget?"

"She seems better," said Rick.

"Glad to hear it," said Hannah. She performed another brief lung exam, and then reached down to tickle Judith's toes.

Judith's large, clear blue eyes fluttered open, and she glanced around the room with confusion until her gaze landed on Rick, and the tension drained from her small form.

"Hi sweet girl," said Hannah, drawing Judith's uncertain gaze. Hannah smiled down at her. "Look at those pretty blue eyes, Judith. Just like your Daddy." Judith smiled. Rick just hoped the coating of dirt was thick enough to conceal his blush.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, she seems better, don't you think?"

Hannah smiled and nodded, meeting his gaze. "It's amazing what a little hydration can do for a person. Her lungs still sound like crap, but she's much better than when you got here. And her fever's down. Good ol' Motrin."

"Dada" Judith croaked hoarsely, reaching out for Rick.

Smiling with relief, Rick gathered her in his arms and kissed her forehead.

"How about a nice bath, Judith?" said Hannah, tugging gently on Judith's sleeve. "And maybe some veggie soup?"

"You have soup?" Rick asked, his mouth watering.

Hannah smiled, nodding. "Carol and I made up a big pot. I think Judith should be up to trying a few bites. And it'll be time for another dose of Motrin in an hour or so."

"That sounds good," said Rick.

Hannah quickly detached Judith from her IV, and they stood. "She's...intimidating."

"Judith?"

"No, Carol," said Hannah. "She was slicing up ham for the soup and kept looking at the knife like she was trying to decide whether skewering me with it would spoil her appetite."

"Carol's been through a lot," Rick defended as they exited the front room. "She doesn't trust easily."

"Well you can bet I'm not gonna trust her easily either, the way she was looking at that knife." Hannah winked and led Rick into the den.

It was easily the best room Rick had ever been in. It was large and spacious, with high cathedral ceilings and exposed beams of dark wood. The floors were dark hardwood, and the walls exposed brick. There was a huge leather couch to one side, the matching love seat on the other, and comfortable chairs were scattered all about the room. The far wall was occupied by a massive fireplace with a roaring fire within and a shoulder high stack of firewood just to the right. The windows were all covered up tightly with thick blankets, so all was cozy and secure and wonderfully warm.

But the best part of the room was his team. They looked content, peaceful, almost… _happy._ Carol sat on the hearth, stirring a large pot of soup that sat on a grate over the fire. Maggie and Glenn sat cuddled together on the couch with smiles on their faces. Michonne and Carl were at the large picnic table in the corner, Michonne trimming Carl's hair as they laughed—actually _laughed_. Various others of the group were settled comfortably into chairs and eating soup from actual bowls. All of their faces were freshly scrubbed, hair shining, their clothes borrowed and ill fitting but clean and dry. Tara kept running her hand over her leg gleefully as though she couldn't believe the smoothness. Only Daryl seemed unaffected by the spectacle; he sat alone in the darkest corner eating soup, his hair trimmed and his face freshly washed but his expression as dark and brooding and broken as it had been since Beth had fallen dead at his feet.

Tyreese was the first to notice Rick's presence. "How's Judith?" he asked, concerned. He raked his hand over Judith's brow with a gentleness that belied his impressive size.

"She's better," said Rick. "Thought we'd try some soup."

"Worked wonders on me," said Tara around a bite.

"I'll feed her!" said Carl, a bit too enthusiastically. He began to stand, but Michonne pushed him firmly back into his seat by the shoulder.

"No you will not," said Michonne. "Not until I'm finished with this hair." Carl groaned, but relented.

Carol approached, armed with two bowls of soup. "I'll feed Judith," she said. "You should eat, Rick. You look dead on your feet."

"Agreed," said Hannah. "Not too much, though, for you or Judith. Gotta take it slow since you haven't been eating much lately."

"You told us earlier," "Carol snapped. "I think I can handle it."

"I know," said Hannah, her voice completely neutral. "But I didn't tell Rick."

"I appreciate you taking us in," said Carol as she traded the soup for Judith. " But that doesn't give you the right to tell us what to do."

"No, but I think my medical degree gives me the right to give you medical advice." Hannah smiled pleasantly and moved off to retrieve her own bowl of soup. Carol watched her go with a mix of uncertainty and grudging admiration, and then moved to join Carl and Michonne at the table.

Rick joined Daryl on the old window seat and immediately took his first bite of soup. It was thick and hearty, with chunks of tomatoes and carrots and onion and beans and peas and ham, the flavors exploding on his tongue. He was sorely tempted to devour the entire bowl in seconds, but Hannah's reminder sat fresh in his mind. The last thing he wanted to do was waste his first real sustenance in weeks by throwing it up.

He occupied himself between bites with watching his children on the opposite side of the room. Michonne had finished with Carl's hair, and he was running his fingers over it self-consciously as Michonne teased him. Judith looked tired again already, her eyelids drooping between bites of soup but brightening whenever the next was offered. She sat in Tyreese's lap, utterly contented and safe in his large hands, while Carol spooned soup into her eager mouth.

"She looks better," Daryl's soft, gruff voice said. "A lot."

"She's not the only one," Rick teased. "I'd forgotten what you look like under all that dirt." He waited for Daryl's snappy retort about his own appearance, but received only a grunt in response. "She is better," Rick said seriously. "Doc knows what she's doing, that's for sure."

"Think we're ok here?" Daryl asked. "Think we can trust her?"

"I don't think we've got much choice at the moment," Rick replied. "And the place seems secure. We're a hell of a lot safer here than we were out in the woods."

"You do trust her, though," Daryl pressed. "Fast. Why?"

Rick shook his head, and settled his gaze on Hannah. She sat on the couch next to Maggie and Glenn, eating a bowl of soup and chatting easily with Tara and Rosita, who sat nearby. "I'm not sure," he finally replied. "She helped Judith, took us in."

"Gareth took us in too," Daryl pointed out.

Rick snorted. "If Hannah Todd turns out to be a cannibal, you can feel free to say 'I told you so.'"

Daryl grunted, and was silent for a long moment as he and Rick savored the meal. Eventually he spoke again, his voice barely audible. "Beth would say…" he trailed off, and cleared his throat before trying again. "Beth would say it's cause you still believe there's good in this world."

Rick glanced at his friend, who was staring into his soup bowl as though it held the secrets of the universe. It was the first time he had said Beth's name since she died.

"Beth was a smart girl," said Rick. Daryl gave a curt nod, and the two fell into mournful silence.

Judith began to fuss and whimper a few moments later, and Hannah was at her side in an instant. "Better get the little one back to sleep," she said. "I'll make her up a pallet in the other room and give her another dose of Motrin. Wanna help me out, Carl?"

"Yeah," said Carl, his haircut finally complete. He took his sister from Tyreese's arms, and followed Hannah back into the front room.

"How's everybody doing?" Rick asked the group some time later. They sat in heavy silence, as though the pain and grief and fatigue, chased away temporarily by the hot food and warm fire, had finally beaten their way back in.

"We're good," said Glenn, his usual optimism sounding only slightly forced. "Better, anyway."

"A little food and warmth works wonders," Sasha agreed with a nod.

"What're we gonna do now, though?" Maggie asked. "Are we gonna stay here?"

"Could get crowded," Tyreese offered. "Fourteen adults and two kids…it's not a big house."

"I'll take it over freezing to death in the woods," said Rosita.

"Let's slow down a beat," said Rick. "We don't know that the Doc's gonna let us stay. Let's just be thankful we're warm tonight."

"I wouldn't think you'd want to stay anyway," said Carol. "Wasn't the plan to get to DC as soon as possible?"

"I'd advise against that," said Hannah from the doorway. Carl returned as well, and went to sit by the fire. "It's been below freezing every night for weeks, and it's only gonna get colder the farther north you go. And not to go all 'doctor' on you, but you're all suffering from malnutrition and exposure. Abraham has injuries that need time to heal. Judith's already sick, and it's only a matter of time before the rest of you join her. Whether you stay here or not is up to you, but you need to get to someplace safe and warm, someplace with food, and you need to stay there until spring."

"Is there any place close by?" Glenn asked. "I mean, where are we, anyway?"

"You're about three miles south of Black Mountain, North Carolina," said Hannah. "Where'd you start out?"

"Near Atlanta," Rick replied.

"Where's Black Mountain, exactly?" Rosita asked.

"A few miles east of Asheville," said Hannah. "You meandered a bit far to the west, I'm afraid, if you were DC bound."

"How'd you end up here?" Maggie asked.

"I grew up here," said Hannah. "Lived in this house from the day I was born up until college. I was a second year resident over in Asheville, my fiancé and I both were, and when the hospital finally got overrun we took what we could and headed here. My dad was…well prepared."

"You've been here ever since?" Sasha asked.

"Yeah," Hannah replied. "There were a few others at first: my best friend, a friend of my dad's, my aunt and uncle and cousin. We're far enough from town that we didn't get much traffic, and we fortified the place pretty well. Still…" Hannah paused, forced a sad smile, and shifted to lean against the wall. "Anyway, I'm the last man standing."

"How long you been on your own?" Tyreese asked.

Hannah gave another sad smile, and looked down at her feet. "A good while." Rick watched as she steeled herself, and then addressed the group again. "The point is, I don't know of any place near by that's not overrun, and definitely nowhere that has food and supplies. Here, you have both of those things, not to mention some pretty decent fortification, if I do say so myself. And not too many dead wander by. You're welcome to stay."

"I appreciate that," said Rick, meeting her eyes.

Hannah shrugged, smiling. "I could use the company," she said. "Don't have to answer now, anyway. Judith needs to stay here a few more days so I can keep a close eye on her. Hang out at least that long."

"Good," said Carl with a smile, and received another conspiratorial wink from Hannah.

"Won't hear me complain either," said Tara. "Not if I can use that tub again."

"I think we need to establish some ground rules, here," said Rick. "We're guests in this house, and we need to respect that." He turned to Hannah. "Doc?"

Hannah looked a bit nonplussed. "Just...be considerate? Kinda goes without saying, but clean up after yourselves and don't waste anything. And, if you'd avoid doing anything that might cause my face to be gnawed off by dead people, I'd appreciate it." She gave a large, phony, toothy smile, earning a few chuckles from the group.

Rick found his own face stretching into a smile, the muscles straining from disuse. "Sounds fair," he said.

He found himself sharing a private glance with Hannah, something the rest of the group wasn't privy to and even he didn't understand. It squeezed something in his gut, something else that was long unused; so long he had forgotten what it meant. It unsettled him, and he was relieved when Hannah spoke again.

"There are beds," she said. "Two that aren't being used. I'm gonna keep sleeping in mine, because it's super comfy and...mine."

"Seems fair," said Tara.

Hannah grinned. "Anyway, the bedrooms are colder than this one, but I've got blankets coming out my ass. I'll let y'all fight over who gets the beds, and bring blankets for the rest of you."

"I wanna stay with Judith," said Carl.

"We both will," Rick agreed. "Carl can take the couch and I'll sleep on the floor in the front room."

"Are you gonna take a bath first?" Carl asked. The rest of the group erupted into agreeing laughter, urging Rick to go and get cleaned up, for the love of god.

"Alright, alright, I'm going," said Rick, flashing yet another smile.

* * *

The bath, it turned out, was heavenly. Going out into the frozen night to pump several buckets of icy water from the well wasn't the most pleasant task, but once it was warmed over the fire and coating his stiff, sore muscles, it was more than worth the effort. He leaned back against the warm cast iron of the tub, and tried to remember the last time he'd had a hot bath. Only the CDC came to mind, when he stood beneath the spray with…

But that was a lifetime ago, before the remnants of his life had fallen apart so spectacularly.

So he lay in the water and tried to clear his mind. The room was warmed by steam from the bath and brightened with a line of candles on the shelf above the toilet, the pale blue tile of the walls glinting in the flickering light. A small, framed photo of two children, taken many years before the change, sat on the shelf as well, pushed to the back corner as though forgotten.

Rick could imagine a time, before the world went to shit, when this home was cozy and full of life, when Hannah was a spitfire of a kid as opposed to the spitfire of an adult she had become. He wondered who she was, before. Whether she was a bookworm or whether she played any sports, whether she went to church or had tons of friends or stood alone at parties or had ever been in trouble with the law.

He wondered whether it mattered.

He never gave much thought to whom people were before. He knew some basics of the history of those in his group, but he didn't know whether it had anything to do with who they were now. He considered how much Carol had changed, or Daryl or Carl or Glenn. Or Rick himself, for that matter. He was a cop before, and a husband and a father and a family man. And now he was a killer, still a father, a widower, a survivor. A violent, bitter, angry, dangerous man. There was little left of the person he had been.

Rick felt the water begin to cool, and scrubbed his body down with soap until the water was a truly disgusting shade. He climbed from the tub and wrapped a clean, soft towel around his hips, and went to study himself in the mirror.

This world had aged him. His face was worn and weathered, his skin dry and wrinkled with lines of stress and pain. His hair and beard were long and ragged and riddled with gray, and he looked much older than his forty years. He was too thin, his dry skin stretched over wiry muscles and visible ribs and hipbones. He had seen similar bodies on the decaying creatures that roamed the woods.

One way or another, they all became walkers eventually.

Rick was startled from his thoughts by a knock at the door.

"Doc," he said, panicked, as he revealed Hannah on the other side. "Is everything okay? Judith—"

"Is totally fine, I just looked in," said Hannah. "Her fever's down, and she's resting comfortably. Everyone else is asleep—except Abraham and Rosita, and honestly I don't even wanna know what exactly is going on in there." She shuddered, and then smiled. "And Carol, she's on watch. You've been in there a while, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine," said Rick.

Hannah raked her eyes lustily over Rick's bare chest. "Yes you are," she said with a flirtatious arch of her eyebrow. Rick blushed. "I brought you some clothes," Hannah continued, holding out a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeved gray Henley. "Not that I don't approve of your current look, but you might get chilly."

Rick cleared his throat and accepted the clothes. "Thanks," he said.

Hannah leaned sultrily against the doorframe, one arm propped against the wall and the other hand on her slim hip. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Rick Grimes?" She asked in a heated whisper.

Rick felt his ears burn, acutely aware of her deep, hypnotic eyes on his bare chest. "Um, I, ah…no?" He stammered.

"Are you sure?" she asked in that same seductive tone. "Because, if you ask me, I have something you _desperately_ need."

Rick found himself leaning forward, his tongue thick in his mouth. "Oh?"

"Mm-hmm"

Hannah looked to the left, where her arm was braced against the wall. Rick followed her gaze, and a pair of scissors slid into view. Confused, Rick looked back to Hannah. She wore an amused smirk, and tapped the scissors against the wall.

Rick snorted and backed away from the door to admit her. "That's just mean."

Hannah laughed. "You're too easy, Rick Grimes. And your blush is adorable."

"Thanks," Rick grumbled.

"Damn, I forgot the water," said Hannah. "I'll be right back."

Hannah scampered away, and Rick took the opportunity to slip into the fresh jeans so he wouldn't be quite so completely exposed. They were slightly large in the waist, but softer and fresher than anything he had experienced in recent years.

Hannah returned with a small pot of water, which she sat on the sink ledge. "Have a seat, Grizzly Adams," she said. "Let's see what your face looks like under that small creature that's living on it."

"Not a fan of beards?"

"Oh, quite the contrary. I love beards. I love a well-maintained, neatly trimmed beard, up to a point. It's just that I think you passed that point about six months ago."

"Sorry about that," said Rick as she went to work trimming the excess from his admittedly bushy beard. "Wasn't a real high priority."

"Understandable," said Hannah.

They were comfortably silent for a few moments, and then Rick spoke again. "Thank you for this."

"It's for me as much as you," said Hannah. "Bushy beards kinda freak me out. Okay, you stand up and get to shaving, and I'll start on this hair."

Rick did as she asked, but met her eyes in the mirror. "That's not really what I meant," he said quietly.

"I know," she replied simply, her voice equally as soft. It rolled over Rick's ears like soothing music.

Hannah wasn't tall enough to reach much of Rick's hair well, the top of her head only at his shoulder height. She trimmed around his neckline while he shaved, and then he sat again as she began to work on the rest. Rick liked that Hannah didn't seem to feel the need to fill the silence with mindless chatter, and the quiet between them was amazingly void of awkwardness.

Rick used the opportunity to study his new host. Her jeans were worn but clean, her feet bare in spite of the cold. She wore a black shirt and zip-up hoodie, and the edge of a tattoo peaked out from beneath her collar. She really was quite pretty, in that effortless, unaware way some women had.

"We'll earn our keep," said Rick after a long silence. "They're good people. We won't just wreck your place and eat your food and leave. We'll help. Maybe a run into town tomorrow—"

"No need," said Hannah. "Wait until you're all stronger."

"No offense," said Rick. "But I've seen your kitchen cabinets. Even if every one of em's packed full of food they won't stretch far, not with seventeen of us."

"That's true, and they aren't all packed full of food. But the eight-hundred-square-foot basement is. From floor to ceiling."

"What?" Rick asked, jerking his head to look up at her in his surprise.

"Be still, if you don't wanna lose an eye," Hannah gently scolded. "Like I said, my daddy was well prepared."

"For the apocalypse?"

"Sure. He'd been stockpiling food, ammo, supplies, you name it. Daddy thought the world was coming to an end from the day Obama was elected president."

"So he was…racist?"

"No, just Republican."

"Oh."

"Anyway, it paid off. You can thank his paranoia for your baby soft face. And there's a garden, in the spring and summer, and an apple orchard not to far from here that only got overrun a few months back. Let's just say that if canning were a sport, I'd be an Olympic Gold Medalist. The only thing I don't have much of is meat, and that's because I'm a shitty shot. I have the feeling your friend with the crossbow might be able to help with that."

"Daryl," said Rick. "He's a hell of a hunter."

"Who'd he lose?"

Rick was silent for a moment. "We've all lost people. And it's been a hard few months."

"No offense, Rick Grimes," said Hannah, "but that's bullshit. I've seen that look before. It's the same one my daddy had after Mama died, the same one Sasha's wearing. Hell, I've seen it on my own face more than once. Daryl lost somebody close him. It was traumatic, and it was recent."

"There was a girl," said Rick. "Beth. She was special to all of us."

"But especially to Daryl."

"Especially to Daryl."

"That surprises you?"

"I didn't see it coming, is all" Rick replied. "I don't know what there was between them, exactly. They were as different as two people can be, but it makes sense, somehow. What surprises me more is that he seems more affected by losing her than Maggie is."

"Why's that?"

"Beth was Maggie's sister."

Hannah paused her work in surprise. "Oh."

"Yeah," said Rick.

"It's a strange new world we live in, Rick Grimes," said Hannah, going back to work on Rick's hair. "Bonds form in the strangest of ways, between the unlikeliest of people."

"Yeah. I guess that's true."

They were silent for a few more moments before Hannah used a towel to brush the stray hairs from Rick's neck and shoulders.

"See what you think," she said with a nod to the mirror.

Rick stood and faced his reflection. It wasn't a professional cut, but Hannah had done well. He did look substantially better, younger, his hair healthier and his face less wild. The effects of the last few years were still evident, though. No amount of shaving or washing could take away what this world had made him.

"I think you look hot," said Hannah, and Rick couldn't help but laugh.

"You just say shit like that to get a rise out of me?" he asked.

"You're funny when you turn all red," she replied. "Then again, maybe I mean it."

"Wha—um…"

Hannah laughed. "You're not much for flirting, are you?"

"I got married right out of high school," said Rick. "Been a long time since I've had occasion to flirt, and I was never much good at it to begin with."

Hannah nodded. "Carl and Judith's mom?"

"She died having Judith," said Rick.

"I'm sorry," said Hannah.

In Rick's experience, it didn't mean much when people said "I'm sorry." They said it because they didn't know what else to say, or because that was what they had been told was polite. But from Hannah it was different. She said it with such understanding, such depth and simplicity, it meant more than anything else.

"And I'm sorry for your losses," Rick murmured.

"It's like you said," Hannah said simply, "we've all lost."

"Yeah," said Rick. "Which is why I appreciate what you've done for us. Especially for Judith."

"I'm a doctor," said Hannah. "I help people."

"Yeah but _why_?" Rick asked, turning to face her. "With everything you've been through, all the people you've lost, why trust us?"

"I've lost just about everything I had to lose, Rick Grimes" said Hannah, as she turned to leave the bathroom. "If I stop being a doctor, what do I have left?"


	5. THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT

_**Thanks for the kind reviews, folks! I'm not quite as pleased with this chapter...please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. I'll try to have the next one up next week. **_

* * *

**THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT**

Rick woke early the following morning after one of the best night's sleep he'd had in years. The pale light of the cloudy winter morning slipped through the cracks in the boarded up windows to bathe the room in dreary light. The air was cold, but Rick was plenty warm enough huddled in his mound of blankets on the soft carpet. Hell, he even had a pillow.

Carl was still sound asleep on the couch, sprawled out in all directions and snoring softly. Judith was stirring on her pallet, her eyes open and clear but her brow furrowed in distress. Had it not been for her obvious discomfort, Rick would have found it much more difficult to leave his nest of blankets.

But Rick went to her immediately, dressing her quietly and carrying her from the room to avoid disturbing Carl's sleep. Judith whimpered quietly, murmuring a soft, pleading "Dada" as she buried her feverish head into Rick's shoulder.

A few members of the group were already awake in the den, milling about the room sleepily. Daryl stoked the fire while Carol stirred at something in a mixing bowl. Tara stretched and yawned beneath her blanket in a large recliner, and Tyreese was climbing stiffly from his own chair.

"Morning," Rick greeted softly, receiving a smile from Carol a grunt from Daryl. "Seen the doc yet?"

"Naw," said Daryl. "I was just gonna go check the perimeter."

"I'll go with you," said Rick. "I just need to find that ibuprofen for Judith."

"I'll get it for her," Tyreese interjected. "Doc showed me where it was while you were getting cleaned up last night."

"Thank you," said Rick.

Tyreese held out his hands to Judith, who went to him easily. Rick's most fervent hope was that if he ever died, Tyreese would still be around. He had proven himself more than capable of caring for Judith, and the little girl adored him. And it seemed the feeling was mutual.

"How was your watch, Carol?" Rick asked.

"Best I've had in a while," she replied. "Not a single walker."

"I like the sound of that," said Rick, and he followed Daryl out into the icy morning.

Thick white clouds hung heavily over the mountains, and a thick layer of frost crunched beneath their feet. Noah caught sight of them and climbed down from his perch on the roof.

"Good morning" he greeted.

"Morning," Rick replied. "Anything?"

Noah shook his head. "One wandered by just before dawn, but it didn't even look in this direction. I did see a deer about an hour ago, but otherwise nothing."

"I'll track it later," said Daryl. "Get us some venison for supper."

"Doc came out a while ago," said Noah. "I'm not sure what she was up to, she just waved at me and took off down the drive."

"Thanks," said Rick. Whatever Hannah was up to, he was sure she had a good reason for leaving. He addressed Noah again: "Why don't you go in and get some rest. We'll be in in a while."

Noah nodded and headed inside, while Rick and Daryl continued toward the fence. They walked the perimeter in silence, inspecting for any gaps or weak points, any vulnerabilities. They found none, and soon arrived back to the front gate.

"We'll need a better lock for this," said Rick.

Daryl grunted in agreement. "Check out the road?" he suggested after a moment.

"Yeah," Rick agreed. "Might as well see how we're situated."

They made their way down the gravel drive to the hilly and winding road beyond. To the left, the road continued steeply up the mountain, winding around and out of sight into the trees and rocks beyond. Rick and Daryl headed right, the downward-sloping portion, and walked nearly a quarter mile before spotting anything of interest. Even then it was only the carcass of a long ago burned car, blackened and pushed off into the trees. A small distance further there was an abandoned house, covered in vines and with half the roof caved in, but otherwise it was all rocks and trees and stillness.

They walked on, and soon rounded a curve and spotted a ramshackle service station at the bottom of the hill. It sat at the intersection of the only other road they'd seen thus far, the gas pumps rusted and bent and the sign missing so many letters it was impossible to decipher. Rick was on the verge of suggesting they take a look inside the building when he saw someone walking past it.

Rick and Daryl had their weapons drawn in an instant, stalking forward silently to take a closer look. It was obvious from the gait and posture that it was a person, not a walker; someone with dark hair, wearing a dark jumpsuit and carrying what appeared to be a machete.

"Is that the Doc?" Daryl breathed.

"I think so," Rick replied. His earlier certainty of the woman had evaporated.

"What the hell's she doin?"

Rick shrugged and exchanged a glance with Daryl, and together they moved forward. Hannah now stood in the center of the intersection as though she were waiting for something. A moment later, they saw what.

Walkers. Probably two dozen walkers, snarling and snapping and advancing on her hungrily.

Rick and Daryl started forward, but they were still several hundred yards away when it became obvious that she in no way needed their help. The machete in her right hand cleaved their heads with ease, and she bit into their flesh with what appeared to be a garden trowel in her left hand. She spun and kicked and stabbed and sliced, un-phased by the rotted blood splattering across her skin and hair. They only person Rick had seen kill with such efficiency and grace was Michonne, but Hannah's style was more aggressive. Quicker, if possible, as she moved from one walker to another without pause.

Rick watched in awe as she buried her trowel in the face of one walker and then used it to drag that walker against another. She then sliced through both necks simultaneously with her machete, and threw the severed head of the trowel-speared walker into a third, making it stumble and fall backward.

Just moments later, the entire herd was dead at Hannah's feet. Rick's gaze moved to Daryl, whose eyes were filled with the same confusion, shock, and admiration that Rick felt. Hannah picked her way through the bodies and headed up the hill. When she reached Rick and Daryl, who were standing in the middle of the road, weapons drawn and frozen in shock.

"Cardio," she said with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders when she reached them, continuing up the hill without a hitch in her stride.

Rick and Daryl exchanged a look and then rushed off after her. It took a few paces, but they quickly caught up.

"What the hell were you doing?" Rick demanded.

"Killing walkers," Hannah replied drily.

"Like this, though?" Rick asked. "What if that herd got bigger than you could handle? They could've taken you down—"

"Well they didn't," Hannah interrupted. "I could handle it. And if the herd had gotten too big, I would've handled that too. It's three quarters of a mile back to the house; I could outrun them easily over that distance."

"Yeah, and lead 'em right back to us," said Daryl.

Hannah huffed in frustration, but still didn't slow her pace. "No, more like lead them into the woods in the opposite direction and then double back. I've done it before, just to see if it would work. Which it did."

"I still don't feel comfortable with it," said Rick.

"Ain't a game," Daryl added.

Hannah stopped and turned to face them, her hair mussed and her face splattered with blood and indignation. "Listen, as much as I appreciate your concern for my physical wellbeing, you don't tell me what to do."

"I had no intention of it," said Rick. "I just don't see why you'd make a habit of going out looking for trouble."

"Can you think of something better I should be doing with my time?" Hannah asked. She looked from Rick to Daryl and back again, and then sighed. "Look, the reality of the situation is, if you wanna survive for very long in this world, you've gotta be good at killing these things. Being good at something takes practice, so that's what I do."

"By getting 'em all riled up in a herd like that?" Daryl asked.

"Yes," said Hannah, and turned to continue up the hill. "I'm an adrenaline junkie, I like the thrill."

"Of killing?" Rick asked. The idea sent off all sorts of alarm bells in his mind, but he couldn't reconcile the notion with what he had experienced of Hannah so far.

"We knew a man like that once," said Daryl, reading Rick's mind as he so often did. "A man who got off on killing like that. Killed a whole mess of our people, including my brother."

"I don't 'get off' on killing, Daryl," said Hannah, her tone much gentler now. "It's the fight. It's the whole near-death experience thing that gets the blood pumping. I woke up this morning with a house full of sketchy looking people I don't really know, and that made me a little bit twitchy. I needed to get out of the house. In the warm months I work in the garden, but this time of year this is what I do to get out of the house. But believe me when I say, I don't _enjoy_ killing anything. Hell, I don't even like shooting game."

They walked on in heavy silence for a while. It was well past daybreak now, but it almost felt colder than it had when he and Daryl had first emerged just an hour ago. The frost was still heavy on the ground, the clouds still hanging thick and low.

"Snow storm's coming," Hannah remarked, breaking the silence. "Maybe ice."

"You think?" Rick asked.

Hannah nodded. "It's the clouds. They only ever look like this before it snows." She paused briefly. "It's also damp, and colder than a witch's titty."

Daryl snorted with humor, and Rick grinned in spite of himself.

"Look, everything I said before is true," said Hannah. "I do feel I need to stay fresh, to keep up my skills and stay in shape in order to survive. And I am an adrenaline junkie, I always have been. But there's more to it than that."

Neither Rick nor Daryl spoke, but both were listening intently.

"A lot of folks turned at the start. We didn't know how to handle it, didn't know what was going on or how it was happening or what to do about it. But we do now. People are getting smarter and more skilled all the time. We're evolving. We're better at killing walkers, better at surviving, and less people turn every day. So if we can kill enough of these things, eventually there won't be any more. The more walkers we kill, the closer we come to getting our world back."

Rick paused, staring at her in shock. "Do you really believe that's even a remote possibility?"

"Yes," Hannah replied, stopping to look him dead in the eye. She held his gaze for a moment, then turned and continued walking. "Mankind has survived plagues before. It'll take time, generations even, but we'll recover. Maybe its naïve of me, but I do believe that. And I guess I'm trying to do my part."

"And get your blood pumping," Daryl added.

Hannah smirked at him over her shoulder. "Doesn't hurt."

* * *

Rick and Daryl entered the house alone; Hannah having headed out back to remove her bloody jumpsuit and boots and wash her face. Everyone in the group was awake now, back in the den and enjoying breakfast. Carol had made up a batch of pancakes, and Rick's mouth watered obscenely at the thought. They even had real syrup. There was a large stack on the corner picnic table, and most of the group was crowded nearby. Rick clapped Carl on the shoulder in greeting, and he grinned up at his father through a massive mouthful of pancake.

"I never thought I'd have food like this again," said Maggie through her own mouthful. "It's amazing, Carol."

"I'm sure your sister would've thought so too," Daryl spat. "If you'd cared enough to try to get her here." He drowned his stack of pancakes in syrup and stalked off to sit alone by the fire.

Glenn took Maggie's hand for a reassuring squeeze, but she just stared at her pancakes, dejected, and picked at them apathetically. The group sat in awkward silence.

Eugene, the king of awkward himself, was the first to speak. It was times like this when Rick was sure the man wasn't nearly as oblivious as he pretended.

"While I was not acquainted with your sister, Maggie," said Eugene in his usual monotone. "I feel certain that anyone would approve of this particular meal, given how long it's been since we've enjoyed carbohydrates of any kind, let alone some as well prepared as these pancakes."

Carol glanced around awkwardly and then replied: "Thank you, Eugene."

"How's Judith?" Rick asked as he took her from Tyreese. She certainly looked better, her expression almost content as she sucked on a Judith-sized pancake.

"She seems good," Tyreese replied. "The medicine helped."

"Yeah I think I even saw a real smile a few minutes ago," said Sasha.

"That's what I like to hear," said Rick.

"How do things look out there?" asked Abraham.

"I think we're good," Rick replied. He had never been too fond of Abraham, but he was strong and skilled and it was a relief to see him engaged again, even if that meant it was only a matter of time before he started challenging Rick.

"Daryl and I walked the road a ways," Rick continued. "There's not much around here, that's for sure. But we didn't see too many walkers either."

"Too many?" Michonne asked. Her eyes bored into Rick's, and he knew he'd have some explaining to do later. Sometimes Michonne was almost _too_ perceptive.

"There was a small herd at the very bottom of the hill, almost a mile from here," said Rick. "It's taken care of. Nothing to worry about."

"The fence is pretty good," said Carol. "But what do we do if a herd piles against it?"

"We'll deal with it," said Rick. "Right now we're safe, and that's more than we've had in a long time."

"So we're just supposed to bury our heads in the sand?" Carol argued. "You're putting all your faith in this woman we don't even know. We have to at least consider the possibility that we're not safe here."

"I'm with Carol," said Abraham, standing to adopt his usual aggressive posture. "We got no real protection, no ammo, no means of escape. What do we do when a herd comes?"

"That's not likely to happen," said Hannah from the doorway. She leaned against the doorjamb, face washed and hair damp, in clean jeans and a navy shirt. "Herds don't come up here."

"There's no way you can be sure of that," Carol argued.

"Sure I can," said Hannah. "I've been here since the start, just about. I've seen herds, but they don't come up here. The most I've seen around the house at any one time is ten, fifteen maybe. That's all."

"That's lucky, but luck don't mean much," Abraham said.

"It's not lucky," Hannah countered. "They don't walk uphill. Unless they see something they want they just wander around. Walking uphill is too difficult, so they just simply don't do it. Not over this incline. A few wander up the back way by the creek, the way y'all came, but most of them stick down on the roads, in the valleys. If something caught their attention up here they would come up, but that's why I keep it quiet, dark, only keep the fire going when I have to."

"So we just do that too," said Glenn. "It's not like we don't know how to keep quiet, or keep walkers off the fence."

"Until the fence comes down," Carol argued.

"If it hasn't happened before now, what are the chances of that?" Maggie asked.

Suddenly everyone was speaking at once, arguing the dangers and benefits of staying where they were, moving on, the cold, the walkers, the food, the shelter. Hannah rolled her eyes and departed, moving off down the hallway.

Daryl stood, slung his crossbow over his shoulder, and headed to the door. "Screw this," he said as he stalked past Rick. "I'm going hunting."

"Can I go?" Carl asked desperately.

Rick looked to Daryl and Daryl to Rick, and they gave a simultaneous nod. Rick gave Carl a pat on the back as he followed Daryl out of the room.

"Just because this is a convenient place for you to get busy with your husband doesn't mean we oughtta be putting down roots," Abraham said, drawing Rick's attention.

"Don't act like this whole house didn't hear you screwing Rosita all night last night," Maggie shot back.

"Don't bring me into this," said Rosita, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Why the hell not?" Maggie asked. "You weren't shy last night. Sounded like you were enjoying yourself."

"You're damn right she was," said Abraham. "Now if your boy Glenn here needs some tips, I'm happy to—"

"Enough!" Rick shouted.

The room fell silent.

Judith, who had been fiddling with the buttons on Rick's coat, froze and looked up at him, her large blue eyes filled with concern. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, but she, like the others, continued to stare at him.

"We're not going anywhere," Rick said firmly, his voice the low growl he was becoming more and more accustomed to hearing escape his lips. "Judith needs to stay, at least for a while. And we need to rest. We need to rest or we're never gonna make it. Now I know you have some concerns, and that's fine. We'll do what we can. We'll do whatever we have to do. But we're staying here."

"You might be staying," said Abraham, "but I'm—"

"You're _staying_," Rick growled, and the bigger man quieted instantly. "We don't split up again. Not ever."

Rick looked around the room, sizing up the rest of the group. Some of them, notably Tyreese, Michonne and Glenn, gave nods of agreement. Abraham still looked pissed, but said nothing. Carol seemed apathetic.

"We'll set up a schedule," said Rick. "Two-man, twenty-four hour watch, frequent perimeter checks. Sasha and Michonne can take the first watch. I'll talk to the doc about weapons. In the meantime, it looks like there's a snowstorm rolling in. Abraham, Eugene, Glenn, Maggie, Tara, Tyreese: go out in the woods, find a tree, take it down and get to chopping. We need firewood, as much as we can get."

Silently, the group nodded their agreement.

With one final glance around the room, Rick turned and followed Hannah's path down the hall.

The last room on the right was hers, Rick knew, as he'd seen her enter it the previous night. The door was ajar, and Rick knocked on the frame before peeking in. The room was painted a pale green, with a navy and green comforter covering the perfectly made antique four-poster. The room was as neat and organized as the rest of the house. Hannah was nowhere to be seen.

Rick bundled Judith in her sweater and a blanket and went out into the cold again. The clouds were thicker and heavier now, and every few moments they would spit a few flakes so small they were nearly invisible.

He spotted Hannah by the front gate and made his way over. She was replacing the chain they had cut, wrapping a new, thick, heavy chain around the posts three times and bolting it with a large padlock.

"What's wrong?" she said when she turned to see Rick, her brows knitted with concern. "Is Judith okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, she's fine," Rick replied. "But now that you mention it, is she due for another dose of antibiotics?"

Hannah shook her head. "Tonight. Azithromycin stays in the system a while."

"Good."

"I think I've got some baby clothes in storage," said Hannah. "They'll be a little big and maybe won't smell the best, but they're warm. I'll dig them out."

"Thank you," said Rick. He wondered why Hannah would have baby clothes, but her closed-off expression warned him not to ask.

"So what's up?"

"People are concerned."

"Yeah I got that," said Hannah drily, her eyebrow arched. "They're not wrong to be. Hi Michonne."

Rick turned. Michonne stood just feet behind him, sword strapped to her back. Rick swore the woman got quieter and more catlike all the time.

"I thought I'd set up a post on the barn roof," said Michonne. Even her voice was little more than a quiet purr. "Wanted to see if there was an extra ladder around."

Hannah shook her head. "I've got a better spot for you." She gave a jerk of her head toward the back yard, and the trio started walking.

"What did you mean before?" Rick asked. "They're not wrong to be?"

"What I said inside was true," said Hannah. "I've never seen more than about a dozen walkers up here, but the red-headed jackass had a point too. There's no guarantee that'll continue. There are sixteen people up here now. That means more scent, more light, and if the little show I saw this morning is any indication, a hell of a lot more noise."

"I'm sorry about that," said Rick.

"Why?" Hannah asked. "You don't control them."

"He does a little," said Michonne.

"He's their leader, but he doesn't control them. They're adults, and if they wanna act like a bunch of juvenile asshats that's exactly what they're gonna do."

Rick and Michonne exchanged amused glances.

"The point is," Hannah continued, "if a big enough herd does come up here, we're basically screwed. The fence is good, but they'd get through it eventually. The windows are boarded, but the planks are starting to rot in places. And the doors all open inward. You can barricade with every piece of furniture in the house, but if enough of them pile against it, they're coming through. We could fall back to the basement and hold out there for a while, but with sixteen people it would get unpleasant in a hurry. I'd say we'd last a week, maybe two, and by then we'd just have to hope they'd moved on."

"When was the last time you saw a herd that could do that?" Rick asked.

Hannah shrugged. "On a run, about two years ago. And that was all the way in Morganton. Forty miles from here."

"That's a relief," said Rick.

"What were you doing that far from home?" Michonne asked.

"Razor wire," said Hannah, gesturing to the fence. "We were thinking of putting up a second perimeter in the woods, but we couldn't find any wire closer in. We saw the herd and decided we'd take our chances with just the one fence."

"I'd still like to make a run for more weapons," said Rick. "And we're scraping the bottom of the barrel on ammunition. I was hoping we could borrow the SUV..."

Hannah smirked.

"What?"

"Just follow me," said Hannah.

They had reached the barn, and Hannah led Rick and Michonne beneath the overhang to the side door, the window old and dingy and the blue pain fainted and chipping. Inside was more like a mechanic's garage than a barn, filled along one wall with tools and farming implements and bags of seed and fertilizer, the other with a series of cabinets. In the back corner was a slightly rickety-looking set of stairs, wide enough to accommodate one person so long as that person was slender, and it was up those stairs that Hannah led them.

The attic ceiling was low, and came to a point at the center along the line of the barn roof. There were windows at either end, a chair by each, and the rest of the space was occupied with pieces of furniture; an entertainment center, a couple of televisions, a stereo, a computer, and a few box fans.

"Visibility's not great to the left and right, but you're doing perimeter sweeps anyway," said Hannah. "The rear window has a pretty clear view of the stream and the rear fence. "There's no heat, but you'll be out of the wind at least."

"Thanks," said Michonne.

"Come on," said Hannah, heading back downstairs. "Wanna show y'all something else."

Rick and Michonne followed Hannah to the largest of the cabinets, which took up nearly the entirety of the back right corner of the barn. Hannah unlocked the doors, and glanced over her shoulder at Rick before swinging them open.

It was filled with weapons.

There were six high-powered rifles, around a dozen shotguns, at no less than twenty handguns. There were stacks of bullets and shells lining the bottom shelf, hundreds of rounds collectively. Hannah had unlocked the adjacent cabinet, this one containing a crossbow and a dozen bolts, two machetes, and ten knives of varying shapes and sizes.

Rick stared in awe, an almost giddy feeling welling up inside him.

"How do you even have this?" Michonne asked.

"I had a father who was a super-Conservative, paranoid, traditional gun-toting Southern redneck," Hannah replied simply.

"You're just gonna let us have this?" Rick asked.

"Use them, definitely," said Hannah. "I'd feel more comfortable if everyone was armed, honestly. Keeps us all safer. Though if we can avoid using the guns as much as possible, that would be good."

"Of course," said Rick.

"I think the crossbow's too small for Daryl, but it might work for Carl," said Hannah, removing it from the cabinet and passing it to Rick.

"Doc, this is…" Rick began. "This is amazing."

"Why would you show us this?" Michonne asked suspiciously.

Hannah looked confused. "Because you needed weapons."

"Right," said Michonne, still watching Hannah with uncertainty. "I think I'll go back upstairs. For my watch."

"Thanks Michonne," said Rick, receiving only a slight wave in response.

Rick passed Judith to Hannah and returned to the gun cabinet where he picked up one of the rifles, a stunning, shiny new AR-15 with laser sight. He fiddled with the gun for a few moments before looking up to see Hannah smirking at him.

"What?" Rick asked.

"On nothing," Hannah replied. "I just bet taking out a herd of walkers with that thing would get _your_ blood pumping."

"Maybe it would." Rick replied.

"Hypocrite," said Hannah, a teasing glint to her eyes.

"I've been called worse," said Rick.

"Haven't we all," said Hannah. "Let's get you stocked up."

Rick took the crossbow, a few rounds for his revolver and Maggie's, a handful of rounds for Sasha's rifle, as well as an extra rifle for the watch. Hannah returned Judith to his arms and locked the cabinet up behind them, and once again they stepped outside.

It had started to snow in earnest, with large, thick flakes falling heavily, swirling violently in the gusty wind so thick that the tops of the nearby trees were all but invisible. The frozen grass was already nearly covered in snow.

Through the white, Rick could just make out Daryl and Carl returning empty handed from the hunt. Abraham and Glenn also emerged from the woods, arms filled with firewood and hunched against the biting wind.

"I guess you called this one," said Rick.

"I have an annoying habit of being right," said Hannah.

Without another word or glance, she headed off into the trees, past Tara who was returning with another bundle of firewood. Rick cradled Judith closer as he stood in the mass of swirling white, watching as nature obscured the world beneath the ice.


End file.
